The storm arrived quietly—no thunder, no wind howling through branches, no flash of light across the heavens. Only a persistent hush that fell like a blanket over the forest. By morning, the watchtower's stone bones were coated in a thin veil of white. Snowflakes clung to shattered beams and moss-covered bricks like fragile offerings from the sky.
Liora awoke to the smell of burning bark and damp wool. Kael sat beside the fire, poking at it with a stick, eyes distant. His hair was damp from the melt dripping through the ruined ceiling, but he didn't seem to notice.
"You didn't sleep again," she said, pulling her cloak tighter.
"I slept," he said, too quickly.
She gave him a look.
He smirked, weakly. "Maybe not."
"You could've asked me to take watch."
"I know."
Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, just… present. Like the pause before a snowfall deepens.
She leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder. "You worry too much."
"It's my job."
"No, it's not. You just decided it was."
He said nothing, but she could feel the tension in his posture. He never said it aloud, but she knew he still believed some part of this journey was his to bear alone.
"I'm not a child anymore," she added.
"I know."
"Then stop looking at me like I'll vanish if you blink."
His eyes met hers—sharp, tired, but warm. "I'm trying."
She smiled. "Try harder."
They left the watchtower before midday. The snowfall had eased to a light drizzle of flurries, and the air smelled of wet stone and thawing wood. Kael adjusted the strap on his pack and pulled his fur-lined cloak tight across his chest. Liora walked beside him, arms swinging at her sides, her breath misting with each exhale.
Wren and Seran led from ahead, the two exchanging quiet remarks that Kael couldn't quite catch. Whatever route they were taking next, it wasn't written on any map he'd seen.
"You trust them?" Liora asked quietly.
Kael nodded, but his jaw tightened. "Enough."
"Even after—?"
"I trust them not to betray us. Not to lead us into death. But trust doesn't mean I stop watching."
Liora looked ahead to the woman with the wolf-eyed stare and the man who moved like shadow between trees.
"I don't think they're used to people like us."
Kael glanced sideways. "What kind are we?"
"The kind who stay."
By nightfall, they reached the village ruins.
It had no name, not anymore. The signs were rotted and the walls long collapsed. Whatever once stood here—inns, shops, stables—was now a garden of ash and stone. Snow dusted the skeletal beams like sugar over bone.
"We'll camp here," Wren said. "It's sheltered, and there are wells. Water won't be a problem."
Kael said nothing, but his gaze lingered on the burnt remains of a doorframe. Something about this place felt wrong—not dangerous, but mournful. Like the ghosts here weren't angry… only forgotten.
As they unpacked, Liora found a small corner of the ruin that still had three standing walls. She laid out their blankets and lit a lantern. Not the one from the Vale—this one was smaller, mundane, but warm.
"Do you ever wonder what it would've been like," she asked, "if you'd never come through the rift?"
Kael sat across from her, cross-legged. "Every day."
"Would you go back?"
He didn't answer right away. The firelight flickered between them.
"No," he said finally. "Even if I could, I wouldn't."
"Why?"
"Because everything I care about is here."
She looked down, touched her scarf. "Even after what this world's taken from you?"
He leaned forward, voice soft. "It gave me you. That's enough."
Later that night, she wandered from the fire. The snow had stopped again, but a chill clung to the air like wet linen. She walked through the remains of the village square, past a fountain where moss had overtaken the lion's head spout, and past a row of collapsed buildings where weeds crept through the stone.
She knelt near a scorched tree stump, touching the charred roots.
"You were someone's home, weren't you?" she murmured.
The wind didn't answer. It never did.
But something else stirred.
A soft crunch.
Footsteps.
She turned slowly. Kael stood nearby, arms crossed, watching her.
"You followed me," she said.
"I always will."
She smiled, not teasing—just grateful. "You don't have to."
"I know."
He stepped closer. "What are you thinking about?"
She touched the tree again. "How many families lived here. How many stories never got to end the way they wanted."
Kael crouched beside her. "Do you think about the ending a lot?"
"I used to."
"And now?"
She hesitated. "Now I think about choosing the ending."
He looked at her.
"I want to make sure ours is one we write," she said. "Not one someone else decides for us."
Kael nodded. "Then we keep walking. And we don't stop."
Even in the dark, the wind didn't feel so cold.
The next morning brought frostbite warnings and the sight of distant smoke rising from a ridge to the east.
Seran scouted ahead, Wren consulted her star-chart, and Kael tightened the belts on their packs.
"There's a settlement ahead," Wren finally said. "Old. Insular. Not friendly."
"Will they shelter us?" Liora asked.
Wren shrugged. "Depends on who they think we are."
Kael looked at her. "Then let's show them who we really are."
Liora glanced sideways, amused. "And who's that?"
He smiled faintly. "A man with a daughter. And a reason to keep walking."